


Burn

by Alyx17



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: BAMF Riza Hawkeye, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Ishval Civil War, POV Roy Mustang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 03:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyx17/pseuds/Alyx17
Summary: "Mustang swallows, curses himself for agreeing to this. He’s never been able to refuse Hawkeye a damn thing, and he’d have sold his own soul to quell the unbearable guilt in her eyes the night she’d made her horrible request. At first, he’d even thought of the agreement as atonement for his own sins."





	Burn

At first, Mustang remembered every Ishvalan he killed. They appeared in his nightmares,their red eyes widening in fear as he snapped his fingers, screaming as they were consumed by fire. The smell of their burning flesh nauseated him, and when there was a ceasefire he would frequently duck away from his fellow soldiers to vomit outside the barracks. 

Inexplicably, horrifically, it became easier. He retreated within himself, and his sleep became deep and dreamless. The smell of human beings reduced to ash ceased to bother him or even to register. He left Ishval a changed man, his soul irreparably damaged.

The war is over and Riza Hawkeye stands with her bare back to him, trembling so minutely that he isn’t sure if he is imagining it. Or if maybe he’s the one trembling. He clears his throat with great difficulty. “Lieutenant…”

“Don’t, sir,” says Hawkeye firmly, no trace of a tremor in her voice. “I’ve made up my mind.”

Mustang swallows, curses himself for agreeing to this. He’s never been able to refuse Hawkeye a damn thing, and he’d have sold his own soul to quell the unbearable guilt in her eyes the night she’d made her horrible request. At first, he’d even thought of the agreement as atonement for his own sins.

Now, with the horrible prospect of Hawkeye’s desperate request just before him, he wonders how he could have thought himself equal to the task.

His mind races as he tries desperately to think of something, anything, to change her mind. Like Riza Hawkeye’s mind had ever changed once made up. Instead, he says “You won’t be able to stay still.”

“I will,” she says, stubborn as ever. She pauses, her shoulders slump a little. “Better be quick, though,” she says. 

Mustang feels every fiber of him rebelling against this. He casts about the room and his eyes settle on a small piece of leather. He walks over, picks it up. “Here,” he says, handing it to her.

“What are you giving me Black Hayate’s collar for?” she asks. “He’s with a friend.”

Mustang averts his gaze. “It’ll help if you have something to bite down on,” he says.

“Oh,” she says quietly. A spasm of fear flickers across her face, but she quells it quickly. “Thank you, sir.”

Mustang feels bile rise up in his throat at the thought of her  _ thanking  _ him for any part of this, but he just grunts in acknowledgement. “It’s best that you lie down,” he says.

Hawkeye nods, lies face down on her kitchen floor. She secures the leather collar between her teeth and bunches her hands into fists at her sides. She nods, indicating that she’s ready. Her back muscles are tensed in anticipation and fear.

“Try to relax your muscles,” Mustang says, hating himself. “That will only make it worse.”

Slowly, bit by bit, Hawkeye’s muscles unclench. Mustang studies the transmutation circle on Hawkeye’s back, the one he’s memorized and knows so well. He feels sick at the thought that any man would place this terrible burden on his daughter. Master Hawkeye was hardly the first alchemist to experiment with flame, but he’d pushed the boundaries of flame alchemy further than any other. This alchemy was dangerous, destructive, unnatural. Mustang knows that if he destroys the symbol on Hawkeye’s back, he will be the last of his class of flame alchemist. He relishes the thought.

This, Mustang realizes, will be  _ difficult. _ He has to burn through the first two layers of her skin while doing minimal damage to the fragile third layer. He decides at once that burning the entire array is too much; it will kill her. He has to destroy just enough to leave it unusable.

“I’m going to count down,” he says to her carefully. “Three… Two… One…” And he snaps.

He tries to move quickly, but he has to balance minimizing damage with doing the job well enough. He knows he won’t have the strength to burn her a second time. The familiar acrid smell of burning flesh hits him like a wave, and he is shocked to learn that it can still nauseate him. Bile rises in the back of his throat, but he grits his teeth against it.

Hawkeye screams horribly, as he knew she would, but the sound still goes through him like a knife. To her credit, she stays far more still than he could have reasonably expected. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, brow furrowing in concentration as he focuses the fire on the most vital part of the array.

Finally, he stops. The fire recedes, and Hawkeye lays breathing hard on the floor. Mustang is a bit unsettled to realize that she isn’t crying, as he feels somewhat close to it himself. 

“Lieutenant,” he says, reaching out a hand for her shoulder, carefully avoiding the burn. She flinches instinctively away from him, hissing at the fresh pain from the movement. Mustang lets his hand drop. “It’s over,” he says quietly.

At that, she does start crying. A sound of relief rather than pain. “Thank you, sir,” she says, sniffling. She struggles to get her hands beneath her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mustang hisses. “Don’t move.” 

He runs to Hawkeye’s kitchen, finds a cloth and makes a cool compress. “This is going to hurt,” he warns her as he bends down to apply it. 

Hawkeye hisses in pain as he applies the cool compress to her scorched skin, but then sighs a bit as the cold seeps in.

“How does that feel?” asks Mustang.

“B-better,” says Hawkeye. She begins shaking violently.

“Hey,” says Mustang as her breathing becomes short and shallow. She’s going into shock. “Breathe, Lieutenant. That’s an order.”

Hawkeye continues with her short gasps. Mustang kneels beside her, takes one of her hands and presses it gently to his chest, trying not to disturb the burn. “Breathe with me,” he says, taking slow deliberate breaths as he maintains eye contact with her. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, over and over again, even though it’s not. 

Finally, Hawkeye’s breathing slows enough that Mustang feels able to return to treating the burn. He applies an ointment he’d thankfully had the foresight to acquire and tries to ignore Hawkeye’s gasps of pain even as he tries to minimize contact with the burn. Finally, he bandages her, trying to avert his eyes enough to preserve her privacy as he painstakingly wraps the gauze around her body.

Hawkeye’s eyelids flutter. She’s pale, but somehow still lucid. “Th-thank you,” she says. 

Mustang grunts in reply. “I’m going to move you now,” he says. 

Hawkeye nods weakly, her head lolling to the side as she struggles to maintain consciousness. 

As carefully as he can, Mustang lifts Hawkeye from the floor and into his arms, gently depositing her on her bed. He can tell it’s agony for her. She loses consciousness almost immediately, closing her eyes as her head meets the pillow. Mustang makes sure her breathing is regular before he wanders over to pick up Black Hayate’s collar. He winces as he sees that Hawkeye has bitten clean through it. 

Mustang sits down on the floor beside Hawkeye’s bed, his back to the wall. He’s shaking, and he bows his head.  _ I deserve this _ , he thinks.  _ I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this.  _ He repeats this mantra until he nods off, dozing with his head against the wall. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought! I live for comments/feedback! :)


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